I'd Crush You So Hard
by Banana Cruise
Summary: Russia has a crush. America is certain there will be casualties. Rus/Ame


_Author's Notes: _

Not really much to say. I favor two pairings and will post a lot of them on my account, often intercepting with each other. But I do like RussiAme so this is what that is. Deciding the genre was difficult because I'm not a particularly funny person, but I do like lighthearted scenes and count them as much. Regardless, drama is my thang so I guess I'll probably stick to that. Anyway, please enjoy this story. It's kind of pointless and random but it was fun to write.

Also, I am not fluent in German, and I do not know the slightest thing about Russian, though I know a little from my brother, so if there is anything I need to correct, feel free to note me and I will fix it.

Enjoy.

* * *

To say that Alfred was having a bad day would've been an understatement.

No – scratch that. It would've been a _colossal _understatement; the largest understatement of the year, in fact. Then again, only someone who abhorred the idea of the cold and waking up before noon could deem that sufficient enough reason to brood and mope all day, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Alfred Jones, the good ol' U. S. of A., was having a difficult time staying awake during a nonsensically deemed "_important lecture_." Something about ice caps and carbon footprints and yada yadda yaddda.

It wasn't interesting and he'd heard it a billion times. Yawn. It was fucking freezing outside, anyway. He didn't much feel like talking about global warming when he was globally freezing his ass off.

But it wasn't so much the snow, or the sleep deprivation, or even the monotonous lecture falling from between Germany's big, fat, boring lips. No, Alfred was used to that, for the most part. They weren't pleasant, but he had to admit he was used to it after going through all the motions for years and years and years and… Well, you get the picture.

The strangest thing about his colossally understated badness that was currently his Tuesday evening was the tall fellow standing in front of him and England with a ridiculously bright smile on his lips. Russia watched as Alfred's face went a good amount of blank and, uh, well, vacant, when he looked at Russia, his gloved fingers pulling lightly at the edge of his immaculate scarf that never seemed to fade or tear despite its age. Why, even England shut his mouth and got a confused little crinkle between his enormous eyebrows at the presence of this uninvited guest that just interrupted his conversation with his favorite American country.

It wasn't so much as Russia's presence that sucked the life out of their bodies as it was what had come out of his mouth.

Alfred stuck his pinky in his ear and twisted, perhaps hearing Russia incorrectly. "Uh, care to say that again? I must have something in my ear," he chuckled, shaking his head, "'cause I'm almost positive I heard you ask me to go to dinner with you."

Russia's smile seemed to grow minutely at that, causing a weird jolt to stun Alfred's chest for just a moment, though not enough to damage his composure. "Da, that is correct, comrade," he clarified jovially, voice dripping with the thick accent of his homeland, deep and syrupy and altogether awkward to the ears.

Alfred laughed.

Russia laughed ('cause obviously Alfred's laughter was contagious).

England stared.

Oh, bad was definitely an understatement.

"Nope," Alfred said, turning his attention back to England, putting Russia out of his mind because, what, Russia wanted to dine with him? _Out of the blue for no reason_? Hah. Russia never did anything for _no reason_, and Alfred wasn't interested in finding out what kind of reasons he would have to get him to consume food products that he didn't watch being prepared.

"That is a very curious word choice, dear America."

Alfred turned around to find Russia still standing there for some reason. He smiled politely at the much taller individual, who returned his smile with maybe twice as much vigor. Damn, how did Russia's face not hurt when he constantly stretched his face muscles like that every damn day?

"Nope; adverb. Meaning: no. Other synonyms being negative, nuh-uh, nah, don't think so, bro."

Russia's eyes were like little crescent moons as he watched Alfred turn his back to him once more, trying to resume his already dead conversation with England, no doubt. "I did not ask for an English lesson. I am quite familiar with the language, although it is nice to see that you are as well. Sometimes it does not seem that way."

Alfred sighed, painstakingly turning back to his unwanted conversationalist guest. Or maybe his joints were just frozen over with frost from the cold seeping in through the summit hall's poorly insulated windows. "Oh yeah? Considering you're still here, I'm gonna throw that right back at you."

Alfred laughed.

Russia laughed.

England's eyes darted between the two.

"You are so funny in your babbling. It is a like a breath of fresh air!" Russia announced, and Alfred wondered if he was being serious or being an asshole. Considering their track record of conversations over the centuries, it was hard to tell.

"You're telling me if I stop talking, you'll suffocate? Well, sew my lips shut," Alfred laughed, making a motion with his hand to zip his lips. Russia's smile twitched for a moment, but he held his hand up to his lips to hide his own chortles.

"I highly doubt a feat that great is possible for you."

Alfred laughed.

Russia laughed.

England outwardly showed his bewilderment, scowl adjourning his lips as he grabbed Alfred firmly by the elbow, regarding Russia with just as much annoyance. "What the bloody hell are you two talking about?"

"Beats me," Alfred said instantly, smile gone in the blink of an eye to be replaced by a small level of irritation as well, eyelids drooping with a frown as he watched Russia with little interest. Said Russian didn't falter in his pleased grinning one bit.

"I simply asked dear America to dine with me this evening," Russia stated, looking too fucking genuine for Alfred's tastes. For a second there he thought Russia was being serious, and that idea made his stomach lurch a little anxiously.

"Why?" England asked after a moment, releasing Alfred and eyeing Russia skeptically, much like he was a new species whose actions were completely foreign to him.

"To eat, of course."

England cast Alfred a reprimanding glance when he snorted, looking back to Russia with way more patience than Alfred could ever dream of. "Yes," he muttered after a long, drawn-out pause. "But why?"

"I do not understand."

"Why are you," England started, but struggled to find what it was that he actually wanted to say. "That is, what is your–"

"What are you planning?" Alfred finished for him, receiving an unappreciated elbow to his ribs.

Russia actually had the gall to look surprised. "Planning?" he reiterated, blinking down at the two smaller nations in front of him. "I am scheming no such things of ill-will or otherwise. I simply am extending a friendly invitation to my friend to partake in a meal with me this evening."

"We aren't friends," Alfred said, needing to get that out in the open. Russia made eye-contact with him and an uninhibited shiver went down Alfred's spine.

"I believe that we are."

Alfred sputtered, feeling like he was losing some of the control over the situation. Russia actually looked like he was serious about this, which was _absurd_. He certainly didn't want to actually spend an evening eating and chatting the night away with Alfred when they hardly talked outside of the absolute need to.

"Dinner seemed to be the ideal time for you, dear friend of mine, for you have an appetite that rivals an elephant."

"_Are you calling me fa_–"

"You two are friends?" England muttered doubtfully, slowly looking between the two before him. Russia smiled and took a step towards Alfred, and that was just the most no-no thing he could do. He twisted to look at England and shook his head in the most convincing manner he could.

"_No, we're not_."

"The best of friends," Russia announced, placing his hand on Alfred's shoulder in a friendly gesture of camaraderie that thawed Alfred's frozen joints and made his body buzz with a furious heat of raw nerves and shock. It didn't help that England was outwardly staring at where the two of them were connected, Alfred not liking that contemplative look behind his ex-caretaker's eyes.

"So it seems," he said, though it didn't sound like he was convinced.

Alfred felt like his head was exploding. In the manner of five random minutes, Russia managed to make his relatively bad day into something unsalvageable. In no way was he letting Russia damage England's views of him. He had taken _forever _to look like the cool bachelor that he was. If Russia was telling people they were bffs, then it surely wouldn't be believable. And England believing that was most definitely not okay with him.

"Arthur, don't you –" Alfred flinched when he felt the gloved fingers of Russia dig into the muscle of his shoulder, sending immediate shocks of discomfort to his nerves there. He glanced up at Russia, who was looking down at him with a strange emotion behind his eyes.

"One dinner is all I ask."

Alfred pursed his lips when he felt England's eyes watching him. Being put on the spot wasn't anything he enjoyed, especially when there was a vice-like grip grounding him to the floor.

"Coffee," he conceded begrudgingly, "and you stop saying that we're friends."

"I would like to think of you as my friend."

Wow. That was… really sad.

"Think of me however you want, just don't go telling that to people," Alfred said, muscle in his jaw twitching as he stared the giant down with a subdued intensity. Something shifted on Russia's face, as if just receiving permission to do something marvelous, before he released Alfred and took a step away for space-bubble reasons.

"It is a deal."

Alfred awkwardly peered back at England and ducked his head, avoiding that look he was giving him that made his face feel all warm; choosing instead to stuff his sweaty hands into his pockets and take this as a loss.

In hindsight it would've been nice to know how much of an impact his big, fat mouth really had on those around him.

* * *

"I h-hate Germany," Alfred grumbled, teeth chattering incessantly, giving him a headache as he walked down the street with full intentions on drinking the fuck out of the nearest coffee shop he could find. There was frost and slush and ice and snow all around the brightly lit city and it vaguely looked like one of those _Winter Wonderland_ things on the television.

Bull. Shit.

"It's so f-flippin' f-freezing," Alfred complained, his hands rubbing together and still feeling like icicles beneath his gloves. Even the two coats he was wearing didn't do much to combat the frigid temperature of European winters. At least it was a nice distraction from his company walking beside him, knee-high military issued boots marching through the slush like it was nothing.

"Really? I find it refreshing," commented Russia with that airy tone of- of _something_ that Alfred didn't like. He puffed his lower lip out and glared at Russia, face nestled in the furry lining of his coat collar as he watched Russia look positively enamored with the dancing lights of Berlin. For goodness sake, he looked like this was his first time here or something, and that was something Alfred couldn't wrap his mind around.

How did Russia always look so _enchanted_?

"Y-yeah, y-y-you would say t-that," Alfred grumbled, sneezing when his hood tickled his nose. Sneezing was the only thing he could do to register that his face still had feeling. How could people live in these kinds of conditions and still be able to make expressions? It was like getting permanent Botox.

"My, oh my, I have completely forgotten. You are not one to take to the cold, are you, dear America?" Russia asked, easily keeping pace with his apparently self-appointed friend. He peered down at the shivering blonde – appearing to be borderline seizing from the weather in his trembling – and smiled to himself. Alfred harrumphed in an overdramatic display of disdain at the statement, something that made Russia's insides dance with glee. Alfred could be so frustratingly adorable sometimes.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"You are very welcome."

Good Lord, he needed to find something warm, and quick. After rounding the block and nearly breaking his face on the pavement when he slipped on a patch of ice, Alfred looked up to see the lights of a sanctuary. Er, okay, not a sanctuary, per se, but there was a coffee shop nestled in-between some buildings up ahead. The neon gel or plasma or whatever the fuck was lighting up the signs were enough to look like glowing halos and reassuring candlelight.

Without wasting much time, Alfred made haste for the warm interior of a caffeine aroma building. The door jingled when he was immediately ensconced in a plethora of smells, a thick wall of heat hitting his face so fast that it felt like it caught on fire. Shifting from cold to hot could do that, you know.

"Willkommen!" greeted a pretty brunette woman from behind the counter, a sympathetic smile cast towards Alfred's dreary figure as he proceeded to wipe snow from his hair and shoulders. He shivered in robotic jerks but managed what he hoped was a pleasant smile towards her.

"What a cute little girl. She is adorable in size and in dress, do you not think so?" Russia commented, smiling and waving at the woman who must've been no older than twenty. She looked somewhat embarrassed but waved back, scurrying off to wipe a machine down in the back.

"Yeah, I just love the brown apron. You think she wears it to school, too?" Alfred said, mechanically peeling his now soaking coat from his arms, shaking his head to rid himself of any stray ice clumps. Russia did exactly the opposite and kept his coat on, seemingly unbothered by the ice flakes coating his body.

"You are being sarcastic." Russia's smile looked slightly less amused, something that actually made Alfred pause in his actions. He looked away in slight discomfort, folding his soaked jacket over the bend of his arm and trying to seem distracted by reading the overhead menu.

"Oh, look! They have cinnamon buns," Alfred announced loudly, bounding forward into the heat and biting at the inside of his cheek. For a moment he had almost forgotten how easy it was to trigger Russia's unstable mental state. He wasn't scared of him or anything like that. Hell _no_. But it didn't mean that he wasn't cautious about getting in fights with the two ton grizzly bear wrapped in a cozy scarf. Like it or not, Russia packed a punch; he knew from experience.

"You do love the sweet things," Russia said, stepping up beside him with a giggle, eyes darting across the menu with little interest. Alfred cast a displeased side-glance.

"Ha ha, more fat jokes. That's original."

"I am not calling you obese," Russia stated calmly. "Although, you could spare your body the unnecessary diet choices you make on a daily basis." He smiled at Alfred's grumbling. "Lucky for you, I am also a fan of sweet things," commented Russia, and Alfred totally was hoping that wasn't a double entrendre of any sort when he saw Russia take a step closer to him, the frosty air from his coat sending Goosebumps down the back of his neck.

"Hey, sweetie! Ready to order now," Alfred called, practically bending over the counter and tapping unremittingly at the bell set by the donation jar. In an instant the cashier was back, looking between Alfred with a small smile to the brick wall that was Russia's chest just behind him.

"Ja? Darf ich Ihre Bestellung aufnehmen?"

"Uh… Right. Um, Ich möchte eine... uh, große? And, no, wait. Eine große... eine – Forget it. A coffee and a cinnamon bun. Number seven up there, see?" Alfred said, pointing up to the menu. She turned around and nodded, seeming to understand as she typed onto the register.

"Yes, yes, okay. Large coffee and bun," she said, bright eyes shining with understanding as she smiled, her words heavy with Germany's native accent. Alfred grinned back and nodded. She smiled bashfully at him before pausing, brown eyes drifting back towards Russia, who had never stopped watching the interaction. She seemed nervous a moment before gesturing behind Alfred. "Your friend? He, too?" she asked uncertainly.

"Ich bin im Moment in Ordnung, aber danke trotzdem," Russia courteously said, waving his hand in dismissal.

She nodded politely and calculated the total, handing Alfred his receipt and went off to make his drink while he waited. Alfred placed his jacket over the back of one chair, eyeing the couple conversing quietly two tables down when he pocketed his change. "Show off."

"It is simply normal to be fluent in other common languages by now, especially considering our positions. You of all people should know that," Russia said, and Alfred wanted to deck him for just sounding so smug.

"You ask me for coffee but don't get anything. What the hell?" Alfred said after a moment, pausing when a grinder went off.

"I asked you to dinner, not for coffee. That, I believe, was your suggestion," corrected Russia, taking in the quaint shop with an air of appreciation. He always enjoyed charming places like this. So homey.

"I am not going to dinner with you. That wasn't gonna happen anyway. What I wanna know is why I'm standing soaking wet in some hole in the wall café when I could be in a warm hotel room with a pizza all to myself," Alfred commented, eyeing Russia with an unnecessary amount of suspicion. Really, now. It wasn't like Russia was going to eat him and spit out his bones.

"Must I talk in circles and refer you back to your coffee proposition?" Russia asked, not seeming put-off by the roundabout way of speaking, but not particularly enjoying it either. Alfred was such a difficult individual to communicate with.

"That's so not what I meant and you know it. Why –" he stopped when the bell rang again, his coffee and pastry on the counter. Alfred shut his mouth and took them with a _thank you_ before plunking down in the seat opposite of Russia, not even hesitating to talk with a full mouth of sugary goodness. "Why'd you ask me to begin with? You never do shit like that unless… Actually, you never go out of your way to spend time with me. Why now? What's your angle, rusky?"

Russia watched his American counterpart narrow his eyes at him with cheeks filled to the brim of bread dough, respectfully smiling with a tilt of his head. "There is no angle," he said simply.

"Pfft, yeah, I'm sure," Alfred snorted, taking note of the way Russia's smile tightened when a food particle hit his scarf. He carefully brushed it off and smoothed the material out.

"Nyet, vy ne pravy, malyshka. There is no angle whatsoever."

Alfred chewed silently, feeling somewhat uneasy with the thought that Russia had something up his sleeve that he wasn't telling him. Just look at the way he was sitting there all calm and smiley and… _big_. There was no way he wasn't up to something.

"I don't believe you," he said after a long moment, the air of finality insurmountable.

Russia shrugged, violet eyes dancing across the snowflakes in the night sky out the window, fingers fiddling with the hem of his scarf in what appeared to be a troubled habit. "Believe whatever you will. I merely wanted to enjoy a nice meal with somebody that I like."

Alfred continued to chew slowly, staring at the Russian who seemed suddenly en-fuckin'-chanted with the snow outside, nothing but the quiet lull of the two patrons in the corner talking inside the building. As the seconds piled up, Alfred's chewing became slower and slower until it was nonexistent, just a lump of soggy bread resting against his tongue and soaking up saliva. Russia finally did notice the lack of activity from his companion and blinked, eyes watching Alfred in all his silence.

"What is it?"

Alfred continued to stare, ignoring the fact that the bread in his mouth felt like oatmeal now. Russia blinked a few more times, perplexed at Alfred's sudden stone-like appearance before he pushed a napkin across the small table.

"You are starting to drip. It is not a pleasing sight at all, dear America." His smile was more like a grimace as the porridge cinnamon bun leaked a bit from the corner of Alfred's mouth. He seemed to snap out of it by then, quickly wiping his lips and swallowing with a gag.

"Say what?"

"Who said something?" Russia asked, raising his eyebrows. It was nowhere near as high as Alfred's was, already disappearing into his hairline.

"Before – What you said before," he said in a garbled rush, skin crawling. Russia took a moment to consider before he understood; smiling at Alfred with no ounce of falsity on his face, and that was the scariest thing that Alfred had seen. And he'd seen France naked before, too.

"I wanted to have a nice meal with someone that I like."

"You don't like me," Alfred deadpanned.

Russia stopped his scarf fiddling and his eyes lit up like he was enjoying this. "Who said that I did not?"

"You did," Alfred said hurriedly.

"When did I say that?"

"Well, you didn't outright _SAY_ it," Alfred said, gesturing blindly with his hands. He felt like he was trapped in a box that was shrinking with every word that came out of Russia's mouth. "It was always just, you know, implied."

"I did not get that implication," Russia stated and the most horrifying thing was that he sounded like he meant it. _Jesus Christ_.

"_HOW_? How did you not get that?" Alfred demanded, eyes wide and stomach in knots. This was definitely not what he was expecting his day to end up as. This was a nightmare made real. "The space race, the issue with Kosovo, Georgia, the Cold War – Any of that ringin' any bells for you?"

Russia smiled and shifted in his seat (and did his cheeks look a little rosier?). "Healthy competition between friends."

"_Health_–? You've got to be kidding me," Alfred bemoaned, slumping in his chair and digging his fingers through his hair in disbelief. He threw his other arm out in a sloppy motion to Russia, seemingly tongue-tied. "Is that what this is about, then? You think this is some kind of… of a…" The words wouldn't come out, but judging by the way Russia was unable to sit still in his chair, his hands moving constantly over the material of his scarf, Alfred already had his answer.

"No. No, no, no, no. You can't do that," he said, overcome with irritation as he stood up quickly from his seat, frantically putting his coat back on. Russia didn't seem disturbed by this one bit. He probably predicted this outcome. Alfred swallowed that lump in the back of his throat, trying to breathe through this panic. Oh God, that meant this had been premeditated.

"Cannot do what, pray tell?" Russia asked pleasantly.

"_This_!" Alfred blurted, violently flinging his arms between himself and the sitting ex-Soviet. "You can't drop a bombshell out of the clear blue sky like that. Expect me to be okay with – God, you expected me to – I don't even know what you expected me to do. Don't tell me, I don't want to know!" Alfred scurried back in a frenzy when Russia stood up, the light-haired individual smiling, amused at the energy radiating from Alfred like socks run back and forth on a carpet. Alfred didn't care if he was making a scene. There were three flippin' people in here, thank you very much. He would damn well throw a hissy-fit panic attack if he damn well pleased.

"I expected you to do what you are doing now, actually," Russia admitted, smile growing when Alfred was taken aback. Oh, the wonderful expressions this man could make.

"Jesus, is this the part where you rub your hands together and say all shady-like that it's _all going according to plan_?"

"You are much too paranoid," Russia said, watching as Alfred took a few steps back, coffee completely forgotten.

"I'm the perfect amount of paranoid. Look, I don't know how long it took you to get the balls to say this, just thinking about it doesn't help my brain any, but whatever you're expecting, whatever you want out of this, whatever you _think_ I'm going to do, you're wrong. Like, so far from wrong it's crazy. Like you. You're crazy." With that, Alfred was out of the shop and back into the frigid night, feet moving faster than he ever could imagine.

This was a nightmare. No, this was beyond a nightmare. So, what? Russia had a crush on him? Is that what this was? Russia was capable of deep emotions like that?

Alfred shook his head, squinting his eyes against the snow falling down. He tried to convince himself that maybe Russia was just messing with him. That was his angle: he wanted to get Alfred in a tizzy and just laugh at him. Yeah, sounded like some asshole thing that Russia would do. He wouldn't put it past him.

Alfred turned a corner too fast and actually did manage to slip on some ice this time, flailing for a moment before making contact with the cement, a suffocating pressure bursting from his nose where it scraped against the gravel. He lay there for a moment, nothing but rapid white puffs coming from his mouth and the pain on his face to keep him company.

As much as he wanted to believe this was all some messed up little prank, Alfred couldn't help that sickening nagging at the back of his mind when seeing Russia admit to wanting just the slightest human companionship. There wasn't an ounce of maliciousness in his eyes with the confession.

That was just too much to handle.

"As much as I love the contrast of red on white, I do think others do not appreciate bleeding out on the snow in the middle of the street."

Alfred blinked, peering up to see a large gloved hand in front of his face, Russia leaning over him like an umbrella, shielding him from the slow onslaught of ice from the sky. He stared dumbly at the hand for a while before scowling and pinching the bridge of his bloody nose, pushing the hand away and standing on unsteady legs.

"Stalker," he muttered, wincing when Russia chuckled at the plugged up way it came out.

"We are staying at the same hotel, comrade," Russia reminded.

Alfred grimaced and looked away petulantly. "Don't remind me."

He tried to avoid his reflection in the window of some clothing shop next to him, hating how bad he looked with chilled skin and a bloody nose, nerves raw and open in his anxiety written across his face. Hell, he was never very good at hiding his emotions. Alfred started wiping his bloody fingers on his pant leg when something was held under his chin. He sniffed and leaned his head back to see the portable coffee cup extended, Russia watching him with intrigue.

"You know, I did not ask you to dine with me because I thought you and I would start spending copious amounts of time together," Russia said, almost like he was considering something. He smiled when Alfred awkwardly took the cup and watched him with a frown. "I did not even think you would react civilly," he admitted with a giggle that made Alfred mentally cringe.

"So, what? You want in my pants or something, then?"

Russia's smile grew and his eyes flickered with something or other that Alfred couldn't place. "Your pants are much too small for me." Alfred rolled his eyes and tightly gripped at the cup as his shivers resumed from standing in the cold for too long already. "I merely wanted to inform you today for reasons unknown."

Alfred's lips hesitated on the spout, eyebrows furrowed at Russia. "To me or to you?"

Russia placed a finger to his lips, a strained smile pulling up his face. Alfred faltered, never much liking that intimidating leer. "Secrets, secrets."

That… wasn't creepy at all.

Russia hummed and patted his hair agreeably, pivoting his feet and leaving Alfred alone in the snow, fully intent on going back to his room, chest swelling with glee at what he finally had done. He stopped a few feet away, though, smile easing off his face when he shifted to turn around. Alfred was staring at him with a strange look on his face that made Russia want to pull his hood over his head; that way he didn't have to see the American looking at him like that.

"You are constantly surrounded by people, yet you are just as alone as I am. I still cannot wrap my mind around that."

With that, Russia waved over his shoulder and was off, an odd skip to his step as he walked out of sight.

Alfred stared dumbfounded after the Russian nation, teeth chattering and knees quivering. He glanced down at the cup in his hands after a long moment before he scowled, taking a hardy sip despite the burn on his tongue.

What a colossally understated bad day it was.


End file.
